Departure: One for Each Word
by hotchityhotchhotch
Summary: Oneshot. Hotch and Emily are hunting down Ian Doyle but he finds them first. Character death. Tied for 2nd place for Best Death Scene at the 2011 CM Favorite Fic Awards. Written before much was known about Doyle, so facts are lacking and/or incorrect. COMPLETE.


**A/N: Just one of the scenarios running through my head for Emily's departure. This was written before we knew anything about Doyle, really. Please keep that in mind!**

**Warning: Character death.**

Two gunshots rang over the rooftop of the parking structure so close together that if it weren't for the visual, Hotch could have sworn only one gun had been fired. Ian Doyle crumpled into a heap, a red circle drilled perfectly through the center of his forehead, courtesy of Hotch himself. But Hotch hadn't gotten in front of Emily in time. Doyle's bullet had collided with Emily somewhere in her unvested abdomen.

Hotch's mouth fell open into a trembling circle as he dropped his Glock, not bothering to re-holster it. The rest of the team was on their way—they would be here any minute—and Doyle was the only one left in the way Emily being able to _really_ live the life she'd only pretended to live for the last four years. The life she lived with Hotch, the life she lived with her friends, the life she lived as an essential component of the BAU. With Doyle's blood pooling around the bastard's head, Hotch saw no problem in his gun clattering down to the concrete.

It felt like eons before he was down on his knees at Emily's side. She lay splayed out awkwardly, but still had enough strength in her to straighten herself out.

"Stay still," Hotch demanded in a quaking voice he couldn't recognize. He couldn't look into her fearful eyes quite yet. All he could bring himself to do was cover her gushing wound with the heel of one hand while he lifted the other one in search of something else he could use to slow the flow of the blood. His muscles were drawing a blank and so was his mind.

"Aar—" Emily started, choking as she gasped for air.

"Shh, don't talk," Hotch said softly. "Can you hold your hand over the wound? Put pressure on it?" he asked from a couple feet above her. The amalgam of terror and physical anguish in her eyes was enough to break anyone's heart. But Hotch's was simply dissolving.

"I think so," Emily said, nodding her head against the ground. She lifted shaking hands to her stomach and swapped places with Hotch, who then pressed her hands into her own gut to make sure she was pressing hard enough.

"Good, good job. Hang on." With the help of the adrenaline pumping like fire through his bloodstream, Hotch flung his jacket off and tugged hastily at the knot of his tie. Once that was tossed to the side, he ripped his pale blue dress shirt in two tugs. Buttons flew in every direction.

Emily's hands were already failing her. Blood, red and thick yet cruelly runny, seeped through her fingers. "Move your hands," Hotch panted, and when she let them fall limply to her sides, he pressed his balled up shirt firmly into the leak. He feared the absolute worst—there was no way he could help that—but he couldn't let it show in his eyes. She was bleeding out before him, staining the cement around her an evil shade of red. Though he was sure at the moment in his heart that it wouldn't make a difference, he brought his wrist to his mouth. "I need a medic! Now! Send a medic!" It was then that he realized he hadn't heard a single question from any of their teammates after the gunshots. His earpiece wasn't even transmitting the quiet static it normally did. He tossed it aside and, one hand on Emily, dug his phone out of his pocket with the other.

"Aaron, it's okay," Emily managed. "Look at me."

"I need to call for an ambulance," Hotch said with new found, albeit probably temporary firmness.

"Look at me," Emily said in an equally demanding tone.

Hotch shook his head as he dialed 9-1-1, then put the phone on speaker and set it aside so he could use both hands to stop the bleeding. He put all his body weight into stopping the blood flow while he waited for a dispatcher to answer.

"Nine-one-one, please state your emergency."

"I have a federal agent down. GSW to the stomach. In the abandoned parking structure on the corner of Fifth and Twelfth. Top floor." Hotch's dress shirt was already nearly saturated.

"I have an ambulance on the way, sir. Are you putting pressure on the wound?"

"Yes."

"Is the agent coughing up blood?"

"No!" Hotch yelled impatiently. He realized his face was slick with tears and his nose dripped like a faucet. He glanced down to Emily's face and watched a steady stream of tears trickle outside her wide eyes as she drew in large but erratic breaths.

"Maintain as much pressure as you can, and I'll stay on the line with you until help arrives."

Emily shook her head at Hotch, pleading for something with her eyes.

"What is it?" Hotch asked Emily.

"Hang up," she sputtered.

"Why would I do that?" Hotch asked, looking at Emily like she was crazy, not dying. Emily arched her back in pain, pressing up against Hotch's hand. "No, no, no, keep your back to the ground."

"Please keep the agent as still as possible," the dispatcher warned.

In a fleeting moment of inexplicable strength, Emily sat up, screamed in agony, and picked up Hotch's phone.

"What are you—" Hotch watched the phone skip twenty feet away across the ground.

"There's nothing she can do, Aaron. Just wait for the ambulance," she struggled to say as she lay back down

"What could it have hurt—" Hotch looked up the few stars and suddenly remembered how cold it was outside. Emily was surely going to die of shock in some way or another. But Hotch couldn't let himself go on thinking that. No, she needed his reassurance, his calming words.

"If I go, then I want it to just be you and me," Emily said softly.

"You're not going anywhere," Hotch growled.

Emily's paling lips rolled tightly into her mouth as her eyes clenched shut. "You need to be prepared for that," she said grimly as she exhaled and let her eyes open again.

Hotch couldn't see anything but shapes beyond his tears anymore. He longed to look into Emily's eyes for whatever amount of sweet time they had left together, even if it was until an ambulance came.

"Come down here," she said with astounding serenity.

"No, I need to keep pressure on it," Hotch said, sniffling just so he could breathe again.

"You can, just lean down a little so I can touch your face."

Hotch couldn't deny the request of his dying lover. Both hands still practically crushing her into the cement, he leaned toward her face until her raised hands reached his cheeks. "There," she said as she delicately used the unbloodied backs of her fingers to push away the tears that had pooled up under his eyes.

And now he could see her clearly again right as her body went rigid beneath him, her hands squeezing his wrists.

"Emily, please, hang on. Help is coming."

Her body relaxed, but her chest continued to rise and fall much too irregularly for Hotch's liking.

"I can't hold on much longer," Emily moaned.

"Just relax, let your heart slow down, okay? Hold my hand." He sacrificed one bloody hand and Emily gripped it with every bit of life she had left in her. "Not too hard. Relax, relax. There," Hotch said softly when Emily loosened her hold on his hand. "You're doing such a good job. Keep it up. Listen—listen—sirens!"

Emily slowly shook her head against the ground. She drew in a deep breath to speak the words she was certain would be her last, but her lungs lacked the power to hold onto the air long enough for her to talk. She saw Hotch watching her helplessly. He knew she was trying to speak, but what could he do? If she couldn't talk, then she couldn't talk.

She squeezed his slippery hand with what little energy she could muster. Three times. One for each word she wanted to say.

"I know," Hotch's voice said, his voice quivering again. "I love you, too. Just hang on. Stay awake for me."

The sirens grew closer and closer, but they were too far off in the distance once they grew quieter. No help was coming for them yet. Hotch broke eye contact with a weary Emily just long enough to assess the damage under his hands. Not a speck of blue remained on his sopping shirt. It wasn't doing a bit of good, not anymore.

"I'm so sorry," he groaned. "I should have known he'd be here. We should have suited up."

Emily frowned and tears flowed freely from her drooping eyes, tracing wet lines off of her white face. She shook her head and Hotch and bit her lip. He knew she was trying to keep him from blaming himself. That was just like her. But he would never stop.

"Stay with me," he begged. "Where's the goddamned ambulance? _HELP!"_ he cried. "_Somebody, help!"_ He knew the surrounding blocks were mostly abandoned.

While Hotch bellowed to nobody, Emily felt herself drifting away. She felt the pain no longer, miraculously, but on the other hand she knew that meant this was the end.

She was shaking hands with Hotch at their first meeting. Then she was at his bedside in the hospital, waiting for him to wake up so she could tell him—finally—that she needed him in every way. And he was listening, nodding, apologizing for not telling her the same things sooner. Then she saw his face closing in on hers as they stood entangled in the dark stillness of his office late at night. His office was freezing cold. No, they weren't in his office. And neither one of them were standing. She snapped out of her hallucination and felt Hotch's nose touch hers. It took tremendous effort, but she opened her eyes fully so that she could see into his once before their lips brushed against each other.

"I think I hear sirens again," Hotch said after a minute; the heat in his breath felt glorious against Emily's icy lips.

"I'm c-cold," Emily said.

"I know. I'm sorry. Here..." He grabbed his suit jacket and tried his best to lay it over her chest and arms with one hand. Inside, Hotch was dancing, simply at the fact that Emily could speak again, but the fact that she was suffering from the cold didn't bode well. "But you're going to be okay. I love you."

Emily nodded.

"Let me hear you say it," Hotch said. He tossed his sopping dress shirt aside and quickly tugged off his white undershirt to replace it, not even feeling the chilly air on his back.

"I love you," she gasped.

"Good, now keep talking. Tell me something. Tell me about…tell me about Sergio. How's Sergio doing?"

Emily smiled despite the dire situation and shrugged her shoulders. "He's good. He finally stopped—clawing the furniture."

"Do you like the new apartment?" Hotch asked, a little calmer with every passing minute. Things seemed to be looking up.

"I hate it."

"Why's that? Tell me all about it."

"If I make it—"

"You will—"

"Then I want to move in with you. I'm ready. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Great, that's great," Hotch said with a sad smile. His arms started to tremble underneath him. "Hold on for me, okay? We have so much left to do. You'll move in with me and Jack, and we can…we can get married. We can stop dragging our feet."

"Yeah," Emily whispered. She didn't know how long her new found strength would last, but she hoped long enough for help to arrive.

"They're coming this way for sure this time," Hotch said. "Stay with me."

But suddenly Emily felt the cold overwhelm her, numb her entire body. The drowsiness never gave her a chance. "Open your eyes, Emily. Stay with me. Stay with me."

Emily sucked in one final breath and opened her eyes a sliver for Hotch. A bloody hand laid against her forehead, tried to rouse her, but the lashes that framed her glassy eyes moved no more.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!**


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